


killing me softly

by Basic_Spirit



Category: Outlast
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_Spirit/pseuds/Basic_Spirit
Summary: Waylon stands up Miles; Miles wants to know why.





	killing me softly

**Author's Note:**

> I found this from 2015 and liked it. I guess the premise is supposed to be Miles and Waylon have to share an apartment to be treated after Murkoff was exposed, and it turns out pretty gay. 
> 
> (Oh yeah, this is based off [ this ](http://rivergrandrapids.com/man-fakes-being-stood-up-at-restaurant-to-try-to-get-a-free-dessert/%20)twitter thread)  
> 

It had been a long time since Miles had had a good relationship.

This one wasn't looking so promising, either.

He'd never asked to fall in love. It wasn't exactly ideal for his lifestyle - he didn't like to feel like he needed to stay places - he didn't like to have to rely on anyone other than himself. The best kind of relationships were one night stands - that way, Miles never had to worry about the morning after. He could be out of there with no pretenses, on the road again without worrying about Morgan or Michael or whatever his name was.

But Waylon Park had fallen into his life, and Miles was fucked.

They spent so much time together, and that could only lead to two things - amity, or discord. It had started out with hate, Miles had so much anger inside of him, and of course the first thing he did was take it out on Waylon. But after a while, he got tired of hate, seeing that Waylon was suffering his own, too, and terribly, these feelings softened to what Miles was terrified to admit.

Regardless, they had to spend lots of time together.

Healing was never easy, not for anyone. Their experiences were both similar and different, but they'd found enough in common that they could comfort each other. Sometimes, it was just nice to know there was someone else there. But it had become more than that - just little things they did for each other showed the caring that was deep down inside. Miles was always there to make sure Waylon was warm enough and was leaving on time for therapy, and Waylon would always check to see if Miles had woken up and he'd cook them both a shitty breakfast, but hey, it was the thought that counts.

But Waylon's wedding ring felt cold when they held hands. Miles could ask about it a thousand times and he'd get the same answer - he wouldn't take it off while he still had hope of going back to Lisa. That's what Miles hated: Waylon was adamant that after his therapy was done, after he could fit into society again, he would return to his wife and boys and live out the rest of his life with them. It made Miles feel novel - like Waylon was just using him to cope for the time being, and everything between them was worth nothing.

But he knew that it did. Waylon came to him in the night, and he wouldn't be able to just leave Miles behind once he got the okay to go home. That was inhuman, and no amount of trauma could take away their humanity.

At least, that's what Miles had convinced himself.

This morning, Miles wakes in an empty bathtub with an equally empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor next to him, back aching with protest and Waylon's white knuckles knocking at the other side of the door. He crawls out and slips on a robe, undoing the lock and rolling his sore shoulders as he finds Waylon on the other side of the thershold. The blond looks a little surprised to see him, despite himself.

"... I'm going to therapy," Waylon says.

" _And I just wanted to make sure you spent the night alright_ ," is what he means.

That was the moment Miles first knew it for sure.

And he'd be damned if love wasn't terrifying to him.

He never asked for it, and that made it all the worse. He knew very well about how Waylon felt about Lisa, even if she was states away, raising their children with her parents. Things weren't going to work out, they _weren't_ , but somehow, Miles convinced himself that they could.

So he had to tell him.

Miles is leaning out the window smoking Waylon gets back from therapy and just sits there for a second, watching him. Waylon takes off his coat and shoes with a soft yawn and Miles takes a long drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving the other man's body. After a second, Waylon becomes aware of the gaze on him and takes a seat at the dining room table, facing Miles.

"I wish you would quit."

Miles doesn't know what he's talking about. He coughs a little and his voice comes out quieter than it should, "What?"

"Smoking," Waylon says, looking down at his hands. "It's not healthy, you know."

Miles can't help a snort of air escaping his nose and a, "no shit." He knows that Waylon will flinch a tiny bit at this and reconsiders, trying again, "Why do you care?"

"Just - " Waylon doesn't want to argue with Miles. He knows he'll never be able to win, and he doesn't want to hurt any feelings. "You're young." The brunette rolls his eyes hard at this. "And you shouldn't..." Waylon's so bad with words, he trips and breaks the eye contact, "fuck yourself over this early in life."

This is a lecture Miles has heard a thousand times before. He knows he could stop if he wanted to - he was barely committed to the habit, only for stress relief and purely something to do. He doubted anyone would change his mind any time soon - if Miles Upshur was anything, it was stubborn.

But it's when Waylon continues that he takes it to heart:

"I don't want to lose you."

With those words, Miles lowers the cig and finds Waylon's hazel eyes, looking green today with no reservations. He licks his lips and climbs in from the window, tossing the butt out before closing it firmly behind him. Waylon looks a little surprised, in fact, that Miles had listened to him, because he doesn't realize the power that he holds in the other man's mind.

Miles wants to do it now. He wants to tell Waylon _I'll do it for you because I love you_. He'd feel better if Waylon knew; at least that way Miles could be spared the embarrassment of having it obvious.

He even opens his mouth.

But he just can't _say it._

So instead, he goes back to his room to lick his wounds, feeling like some stupid little kid who doesn't know enough words to get what he wants. Waylon sits there for a little while longer, not quite sure what he did but inherently pleased with himself.

That night, lying awake in bed, Miles decides when he's going to tell him.

He just needs some kind of motivation.

Miles ends up inviting Waylon out for dinner.

He knows Denver better than Waylon had - he'd lived here, before it all - and knows which places were nice, which places were quiet and which places had the best food. Which places were the best for lovelain confessions. Asking him out could've been the hard part - a date with a married man, how scandalous. But things were fine between them, for the most part. Waylon had told Miles many times before that when they were together, his anxiety was gone, he was just happy.

Miles sits down across from him one time and offered in his devil-may-care way, "We should get dinner sometime."

Honestly, when Waylon first hears this proposal, he thinks it's a joke. He looks up in his usual meek way, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. "... what do you mean?"

"I mean like a decent meal, somewhere nice," Miles can't help but feel like he was being redundant but tries not to sound annoyed. If he was, it was only because he was nervous. Hell, he hated to admit it, but there was a lot weighing on this meetup. "I'm a little... tired of just staying in the apartment. It could be nice to go out."

"Yeah." At first, it doesn't really hit, but after a second, Waylon realizes what he was saying and repeated, "yeah! E-exactly!"

Miles feels a little hot in the face but keeps going: "There's a little place a few blocks down - En Vie - the food's great there, how about we head down tomorrow night after my therapy?"

"That sounds great," and when Waylon speaks with such enthusiasm, Miles' heart just leaps with joy. Maybe he does have a chance after all. "W-we can dress up and everything!"

God, it's been so long since Waylon's been excited about something, and isn't it just a compliment to Miles' ego that this is his doing, he was the reason the technician's eyes lit up for the first time in weeks.

Either way, they confirm the details and Miles goes to sleep with something to look forward to.

He lies in bed thinking about it for at least an hour before, though. He's twitchy and desperately wanting a smoke, but Waylon's words play over and over again in his head: _I don't want to lose you._ Miles can feel like he matters. It's been a long time since that was been true. His chest swells up and he thinks of things that he could say _\- I never expected it, to be honest_. He'd say something about their connection - how deep is was, how it bonded them from before they even knew each other's face. And of course there would be _I should hate you_ s. And then he'd reach across the table and take the other man's hand, and say nothing more, and he knew Waylon would understand what that meant.

No matter how terrible, how embarrassing it sounded in his mind, no matter how much it could ruin things, he'd set himself this goal and he planned to achieve it.

He went to sleep with a stupid smile on his face.

Thursday was the only day they didn't see each other. But that's why Miles had chosen it, really, to save himself the pre-dinner awkwardness. Every Thursday, Waylon was at his therapy by the time Miles crawled out of bed late, and he'd stay out for his weekly hour of societal contact. By the time he was home it was afternoon and Miles was no where to be found. Sometimes Miles drank away the afternoons, but most times he was just out to clear his head. Even when it was raining, he found it cathartic to walk the streets of Denver - it reminded him that life did go on outside of their apartment, and there was something else to go back to.

But today, when Miles wakes up to an empty apartment, he's preparing himself right away. He showers and shaves, brushes his teeth and eats something with his pills - a miracle! - and he dresses at least three times before he finds something he likes. Something he thinks Waylon would like. He ends up in a forest green sweaters over a dress shirt and dark khakis; he feels like it brings out his eyes.

Not that Waylon would really care, but Miles tells himself he might.

Before his therapy, he calls and makes the reservation - he's heading right to the restaurant after the 4:00 therapy session, and he'll meet Waylon there. He can't remember the last time he's been excited for something good - something other than a story that might earn him a couple extra bucks, money to pay the rent.

The therapist notices, but hopes things are just a fluke. Love could change anyone, but the therapist finds it hard to make that diagnosis. He just couldn't believe it for the ex-journalist; it seems abnormal. But Miles' heart has doubled in size over the past few weeks and when he smiled, he shone.

By the time he's out of the office, the sun's mostly set and January cold was settled too deep. It's a brisk walk to the restaurant but Miles doesn't mind - it's nearing 6, and he wonder if Waylon will beat him there.

But he wasn't. Miles doesn't hesitate: he knew well already that Waylon wasn't the best at being prompt and went to get their table, telling the maître d that he was waiting for  _Waylon_. How lovely that feels to say. He's thought out all his words, he's ready for the blonde man to know how he really feels. He's even ready for Waylon to not say it back, because even so, it'll be great to have it off his chest.

When it's ten minutes past their decided time, Miles calls the apartment with a "hey, I'm here, where are you," call, not letting himself worry at first. He's able to tell himself that Waylon's on his way now, or that he'd lost track of time and was in the shower still getting ready. He looks through the menu and the waiter brings him two waters.

Within twenty minutes Miles knows that the people around him have started to notice but denies it to himself. His glances at the door have become more frequent and he's twitchy again, and even though he doesn't want to lose faith in Waylon, he's starting to. His water is half empty and his stomach is starting to rumble, but when the server came over he was still insistent: "He'll be here, I'm sure, just five more minutes."

After thirty minutes of waiting, two unanswered phone calls and too many looks from the people around him, Miles has given up hope. The waiter stopped making eye contact with him and was avoiding his table, and the last time he'd came by he offered Miles, "Traffic's really bad over by the 255, if he's coming from that way," but Miles knew that traffic wasn't going to be the issue.

In ten minutes more, Miles puts on his coat again and tells the waiter, "I don't think he ever planned on coming," in a voice uncharacteristically small for him. At this point, he didn't want to eat anything, but he still thanked the waiter (who touched his arm and asked, 'you okay, bud?'). He didn't want to go home, either - the thought of Waylon just sitting alone in their apartment doing nothing was too much for him.

He's never been stood up before.

He goes out and buys a pack of cigarettes and smokes every one of them until his hands are numb from the cold.

By the time he goes back to the apartment, it's hours later. He comes in and finds Waylon on the phone -  _with Lisa,_ he knows, and he has the audacity to feel that Waylon is betraying him - and walks past him without a word. He goes to the cupboard and brings out the bottle of whiskey he thinks he's been saving and brings it to his bedroom with the intentions of drinking himself to sleep. Even if Waylon was trying to say something, Miles doesn't give him the chance, locking the door behind him and stripping off the outfit he'd put so much work into and crawling into bed with his liquor.

He wasn't sure if he should cry or not. He half felt that it would be pointless to cry over Waylon - because that would mean that he was really hurt. At least this way he could pretend not to care, he could tell himself that it was better off that Waylon didn't know, and deep down he wished that this experience would lessen his feelings for the other man.

But it didn't.

And he did cry himself to sleep.

The next morning he is painfully hungover with a half-empty whiskey bottle waiting for him on the bedside table. He sits up and rubs his aching forehead, eyes red and puffy from what had been a long night. He can't spend much longer in his room - it drives him mad, he knows this. So he does go out, still ignoring Waylon wholeheartedly, taking his pills and feeling sick to his stomach. He takes a cigarette out from behind his ear and lights it right in front of Waylon, taking a long drag before settling back, sitting on the edge of the dinner table.

Waylon looks up from the small breakfast he's trying to force himself to eat. "... I thought you-... quit."

Just to spite him, Miles breaths all the smoke out of his lungs and into the room in Waylon's direction, causing the smaller man to wrinkle his nose slightly at the scent.  _I thought you cared,_ formed on Miles' tongue but he kept it in.

Regardless of Miles' recommenced hobby, Waylon is in an indefatigable good mood, smiling wider than he had in a long time. This just darkens Miles' mood more, if possible, to the point that he actually speaks: "What are you so damn pleased about?"

Waylon is glad that Miles was talking to him again - to be completely honest, he hadn't the slightest clue as to why Miles' countenance was so dark - and naively answers, "Ye-yesterday, Lisa called and she says she's thinking about bringing the boys to visit... since the last time we all got together was Christmas, and - "

That's all Miles can take. He stands up, making his head spin and holds his cigarette tighter. "You know what, Park? I never thought you were this fucking selfish. But I was wrong. All you care about is yourself."

This takes Waylon by surprise; he hadn't seen it coming. But Miles always prided himself in being the spontaneous type, didn't he. "I - I don't..." he trailed off, turning on the couch to look at Miles better, because he really doesn't know what to expect anymore. "What are you saying?"

"Fucking - " Miles is getting frustrated with himself, feeling like he's making a big deal out of everything. "I'm saying  _you_ don't care about  _me_ anymore!"

Waylon furrows his brow, hands shaking. "Miles, I don't understand, o-of course I do, I - "

Miles breaths out hard through his nose and takes a long breath in through his cigarette. "Then where were you last night?"

Waylon's face pales when he realizes what he's done. Not only has he let Miles down, but he's embarrassed him too - publically, something that he knows Miles despises. "I - ..." the truth is, Waylon doesn't know what to say. He's not very good at all with the truth, he never has been and never will be.

When Waylon can't find the words, Miles continues to rant, "I put so much fucking effort into our relationship, Park, I'm gonna - I'm gonna be  _there for you_ no matter what, and you always seem to forget that! You act excited when I say something - but you could've just said no then, it'd be easier for the both of us!"

"I didn't - " Waylon was getting frustrated, mostly with himself, struggling to explain, "I couldn't go."

"You should've fucking told me that before I spent - " Miles throws his hands in the air, "forty five fucking minutes waiting for you! If you don't love me, then  _stop_ leading me on!"

With these words, Waylon has to take a step back. That L word is very dangerous, but Miles can't take it back now. Waylon's almost crying - he's never been good in an argument - and he feels so small next to Miles' bristling form. But he can't think of anything to say - his mind freezes up like a child and his face burns. After an intense staring match, Waylon bites his lips as the first tears spill over and he sobs, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Miles never wanted to make Waylon cry but he can't stop now. "I need an answer," although Waylon's tears shook him, he was still firm. "Why did you stand me up?"

"I - I was stupid, alright? Isn't that enough of a reason for you?" Waylon stands up and starts to make for the door. "I'm going out."

"No," Miles actually reaches out and grabs a handful of the other man's shirt as he tries to pass by, pushing him back against the wall. "Just tell me you forgot if that's the truth, I just want to know!"

"I can't!" Waylon whines, squirming with the absolute proximity. "Just let me go! Please!"

It's the panic in Waylon's tone that gets to Miles and snaps out of his rage, and he loosens his grip, panting and shaking with adrenaline. The IT guy is crying, his tearful face a sorry sight, and Miles was the cause of this.

In a way, this is justice. Waylon made Miles cry, now he was just returning the favor.

For a second, as his determination fades, he realizes how close he is and his soft heart twinges - it would be so easy to pull Waylon in and kiss him, there was only inches between their faces. But he knew that would be playing trick with Waylon's mind, and he was done with him... right?

Miles forcefully releases his shirt and turns back, and while his attention is diverted, Waylon grabs his coat and runs out. The hour after that, Miles stays in his apartment trying to figure out what went down and feeling a little bad. Ideally, he would've been there, softly apologizing and wiping away Waylon's tears, and they could've figured things out together.

His heart was as relentless as the rest of him.

Waylon stays out until he figures out what he thinks is the right thing to say. The truth is frightening, frankly, but he's not a good liar. Even if it scares him now, he knows things won't get any better on their own.

Controvesially, Miles has come up with his own plan. And when Waylon walks in, Miles' cigarettes are gone again but Miles isn't, he's waiting there and before Waylon can even take off his coat, he's on his feet going towards him, and Waylon can do nothing as Miles takes his neck and shows him exactly what last night meant to him.

When he kisses Waylon, all is well.

It's the moment when he pulls back that things can start falling apart.

So he makes the kiss last as long as he can: eyes closed, his mangled hands which had been on the back of the other man's neck traveling up to card his hair and stroke his cheek, his lips parting as he moves in again, and then again. Waylon has done nothing to disuade him, so he doesn't stop.

And when they do finally split apart, the look in Waylon's eyes surprises the both of them. With Miles still centimeters from him, Waylon slowly explains in practiced words: "I didn't go to dinner yesterday... because I knew what you were going to say. And I was scared." Miles inhales slightly before Waylon finishes his sentiment: "But I'm tired of being scared."

It was true - Waylon and Miles had been scared too much already. And few things could be worse than what they'd already lived through.

A little indulgence couldn't be blamed.

Now was Miles' chance - this was the luck he's been asking for to say it! - so he tries to recount what he had thought of before, and now, of all times, is when his tongue thickens in his mouth and he doesn't know what to say for the life of him, and he worries that this moment might end without anything being achieved.

But to his bewilderment, Waylon takes away his need to say anything when he moves in and kisses Miles back with completely matched fervor, passion, emotion and  _love,_ love most of all, and Miles' stomach drops as his chest swells. Warmth spreads all over his chest as they press endlessly into each other, mouths crushed together with earnestness.

When they finally pull back, they almost start kissing again but Miles stops himself and just asks:  _"What?"_ What are you doing, what about Lisa and your kids, what made you change your mind.

Waylon seems to answer them all when he finally says, "I realized the truth."

And even if that answer won't hold up in court and there's still the completely pressing matter of his other family, but it's enough for Miles now because that's been his dream, that Waylon would really and truly love him, and even though before Waylon would've died before he kissed a smoker, he can ignore the stale taste in Miles' mouth because he knows the habit will be gone if this moment is real.

Hell, it really is. As scary as it is to Waylon, his feelings for his wife (who he promised to love and cherish  _forever)_ had mysterious changed in the asylum where he had forced her to the front of his mind. And he never expected to fall so hard for this high and mighty journalist that he thought would be his panacea.

He hadn't wanted to go to dinner because he knew if he would, he was going to love Miles back and the night before, he hadn't wanted to.

But he was okay now.

All of this Miles learns much later, because for the time being, they were too busy catching up on all the time they'd missed loving each other. Miles hated that Waylon had the power to change his emotions so quickly - to be hating him one moment and falling into his arms next.

Waylon may not have been the most lethal substance Miles ever infected himself with, but he'd be damned if Waylon wouldn't be the end of him.


End file.
